


Devil's Haircut

by MaesterChill



Series: Bad Things Happen [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Crack, Established Relationship, Ginny Weasley Bashing, Judgy Draco, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Poncy drinks, Post-Hogwarts, Tentacle phobia, Traumatic Haircut, did I mention this was crack, utter stupidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 20:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16353302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaesterChill/pseuds/MaesterChill
Summary: Bad things happen following Ginevra and Potter's split, including a haircut.





	Devil's Haircut

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Bad Things Happen Bingo to complete the square 'Traumatic Haircut'.
> 
> I've had several raised eyebrows at the 'blue algae latte' - it's a thing, I swear! Feast your eyes upon its magnificence:  
> [](Blue%20Algae%20Latte)
> 
>  
> 
> Many thanks and much love to [RuArcher(coriesocks)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coriesocks/) for the fantastic beta and to [timothysboxers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timothysboxers/) for the inspiration.

Draco jumped when the squawk pierced the air, his blue algae latte slopping onto the front of his robes.

“What in the name of Salazar’s shorn scrotum!” he exclaimed as he cast a quick cleaning charm.

He stood up from the table he and Potter were sitting at outside The Magic Bean café and craned his neck around to see what the commotion was.

He cringed as he saw none other than Ginevra Weasley standing in the doorway of Florian Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour shouting the odds like a fishwife. Her two boys appeared to be struggling to restrain her from launching herself at the man standing just inside. Her youngest was sitting in a pushchair screaming her lungs out. She looked a bit old for a pushchair, if Draco was honest. Her feet were perched on the footrest meaning her knees were practically touching her chin. She had to be at least five years old, by his reckoning, and, in his opinion, a child of that age should be able to walk for themselves, and conduct themselves with a damn sight more decorum than was currently on display.

“Potts... Potter, look.”

When Potter didn’t respond he turned to see his boyfriend looking down, busily dabbing his jeans with a napkin. Clearly, he’d spilt his drink over himself and forgotten he was a wizard.

Again.

That turmeric chai tea would stain badly if he didn’t get a Scourgify to it quick.

“Potter, it’s your ex.” At that Potter looked up. Spotting the Weaselette, he scrunched up his face. He looked exactly like a Shar-Pei puppy, it was quite adorable. Draco pointed his wand at Harry’s crotch and cast a cleaning charm, causing him to jerk backwards. “She’s on one of her sanctimonious rants again. Dragging the screaming brats around and terrorising the good folk of Diagon Alley.”

“Oi, Malfoy, those’re _my_ brats you’re talking about—” But he was interrupted by another tirade.

“I don't _care_ if you’re the day manager, you _will_ get Mr Fortescue out here RIGHT THIS SECOND!”

“She’s getting worse, Potts.”

Potter sighed, “I know. She’s taken the break up so much harder than I thought.”

Draco agreed. “First it was wearing pyjamas and slippers to bring the kids to the park. Then that all seemed to change and she was suddenly tarting herself up in candy pink lipstick and sunglasses, sporting pastel capri pants and matching gold shoes and belt—horrendous—and most probably a result of those awful potions she’s taking for her mood. And now this, whatever _this_ is.”

She was still shrieking, “We brought those ourselves. My kids DO NOT steal!”

Draco strained his ears and could hear a male voice calmly stating, “I’m sure they don’t, madam. However, customers do not usually bring their own tableware, and I must point out that the sundae dishes you claim the children brought with them clearly bear the Fortescue logo on the side.”

“Oh, Godric no.” Potter was shaking his head. “Don’t tell me the kids are shoplifting again. And Merlin, what has Ginny done to her hair?”

Draco had been so busy being appalled by Ginevra’s behaviour that he’d failed to notice the cataclysm that was her hairstyle. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. She’d clearly had her ginger tresses recently cut. The back had been hacked up into a short bob, much shorter than the hairline which had been shaved, however the front sections had been left long, framing her face with two brick-red tentacles which were currently swinging around as she dumped the ice-cream dishes into Mr Fortescue’s arms with clear hostility. Merlin, was it his imagination or were they… _charmed_ to sway about like that?

Draco's palms began to sweat thinking of nights in the Slytherin dorm cowering under the covers. He’d been fucking terrified of the Great Squid, even more than he was of snakes, although he'd never admitted it to a soul—Slytherin pride, you see. Monstrous writhing beasts the lot of them.

Draco found it so distressing that he was beginning to feel wobbly. He grabbed Potter’s sleeve to steady himself.

“Potter. Ha-harry, I think we should go.”

He moved slowly backwards, and Harry was just beginning to follow him, when—

“Daddy!!”

Bugger.

Young Albus had spotted Potter.

The bob-from-hell swung around and clocked them too. Draco’s whole body tensed.

“Harry James Potter! DON'T you walk away,” the traumatic coiffure was screeching. “We need to have WORDS about this fancy food you've got our kids hooked on.”

Several conversations around them ceased as the patrons of The Magic Bean stopped to stare in alarm at the events that were unfolding.

“Avocado and camembert, Harry? Lily demanded avo-fucking-cado and camem-fucking-bert on her toast this morning. That pretentious snob can steal my husband,” she swivelled her gorgon eyes towards Draco, “but I _refuse_ to let him poison my kids with that poncy muck.”

The menacing hairdo advanced, ginger tentacles reaching for him, and Draco felt the blood draining from his face, his arms, his chest, and …

* * *

 

... _trauma_...

.. _.hit his head pretty hard…_

_...colour in his cheeks…_

Draco became dimly aware of voices around him.

“She…” he croaked.

“Father! You're awake!”

Draco accepted a hug from Scorpius and looked over the boy’s shoulder into his boyfriend’s concerned eyes.

“She had that ... _done_ ,” Draco said, “to herself. _Voluntarily_ , Potter, and she _paid_ someone to ... to do it… I may never recover.”

“Thank Merlin you're awake! But what _are_ you on about?” said Potter.

“Hair, Potts. Her...hair,” Draco said weakly.

“What, no, don't worry, she’s not _hair_ , I mean here. I managed to talk her down to a compromise of cucumber and brie.”

“Cucumber and brie, what sort of ridiculous compromise is that? Foul! Absolutely foul! I refuse to be dictated to by that—”

“Shush, Malf, don’t worry about it. The Healers said you could come home this evening, isn't that great? And you needn't worry about cooking, I'm going to come over and spoil you with something special. We’re having Italian grilled octopus with lemon and—”

The magical monitors flashed and squealed as Draco blacked out once again.

  



End file.
